


A Gathering of Old Men

by aerye



Category: due South
Genre: Memes, Multi, Older Characters, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-18 01:22:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14201946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerye/pseuds/aerye
Summary: di·a·lectˈdīəˌlektnounA particular form of a language that is peculiar to a specific region or social group. Or set of Rays.





	A Gathering of Old Men

**Author's Note:**

  * For [copracat (Vera)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera/gifts).



> copracat asked for "DS F/V/K or friendship, set at their ages now maybe," and gave me a first line: 
> 
> "Ray's never understood how he knows which Ray Fraser means when he says Ray but even Stanley can tell now, no matter how intense the situation."

Ray's never understood how he knows which Ray Fraser means when he says Ray but even Stanley can tell now, no matter how intense the situation. Like when they're angry, and yelling and screaming about this or that, and Kowalski's right up in his face, or Ray's right up in Kowalski's, and suddenly Fraser just says, "Ray," and they both know right away who's being the bigger prick, because it's right there in Fraser's voice, who just stepped over the line. So then he steps back, or Stanley does, and they take it down a notch, because Fraser never calls it wrong.

Or when they're having sex, and _his_ fingers are buried in Fraser's ass, but _Kowalski's_ deep throating the man like he's got no gag flex at all.

Which has led to some interesting, and in Fraser's case frankly exhausting, competitions.

Even when Fraser says "I love you, Ray," Ray knows when it's him, and when it's Kowalski. It's not that he minds when it's Kowalski though, because even though he doesn't admit it often enough, he loves Stanley just as much as Fraser does. Can't imagine life without him. And after twenty years Ray loves the fact that Fraser loves Kowalski as much as Ray loves Fraser, and the fact that Ray loves that Kowalski loves Fraser. And that they both love him.

He frowns as he finishes sprinkling the shredded cheese and puts the casserole dish in the oven. He's not sure how much sense that would make outside of his own head. And jeez, he's getting mushy in his old age.

Actually, they're all getting older now, and there're more stiff limbs and grey hair and a creakiness that you can't hear but he can see when one of them settles into a chair. Kowalski's beard—he grew that out a few years ago—is more white than grey, although his hair (still looking like someone took a weed whacker to it) is more grey than white.

He guesses they can see it in him, too. Their life is quieter now. Fraser is retired, and he's a U.S. citizen now (Stanley jokes his pension is some kind of foreign aid), so there's not as much of the back and forth to Canada. Unless they want to (although do not ever suppose Ray pines for the tundra). But a couple of times a year he sees the look on Fraser's and Kowalski's faces, and before he knows it he's up to his ass in snow. Somewhere along the line Kowalski fell in love with Canada along with Fraser, and he spent his time and paid his dues, and now he's a Canadian citizen, too. 

Ray? Ray's just a Chicagoan. He tells them someone has to stay monogamous. 

Yeah, so Fraser's retired. As much as Fraser could ever retire—there is still the volunteering and the mentoring and the sticking his nose in Kowalski's cases whenever he can get away with it. Ray has just learned to shake his head and turn a deaf ear at the words "citizen's arrest." And sometimes it keeps him out late with Kowalski, who's like a dog with a bone on a case. Ray? Ray made lieutenant. He's home by seven, usually, so he usually cooks. (It's self protection actually. If he left it to Kowalski they'd eat pizza or takeout every night, and if he left it to Fraser—well, Fraser's repertoire relies sort of heavily on pemmican.) 

"What's for dinner?" Kowalski yells, coming first through the door. Ray grabs a beer for him from the refrigerator and sets it on the counter; he turns on the kettle for Fraser. "Tamale pie."

"Mexican lasagna."

"And not enough for you if you keep that up. Where's Fraser?"

Kowalski straddles one of the kitchen counter chairs, tilts his head back and almost drains the bottle, then wipes his chin with the back of his hand. "Bathroom. He got the worst of the paint gun."

"Paint—?" Ray shakes his head. "No. I do not want to know. Do not ever tell me. In fact, leave it out of your report."

Kowalski shrugs. "Sure."

"I think I may need to borrow Pearson's shampoo," says the man of the hour, as he enters the kitchen. Pearson, who was not half wolf but could read lips, lifts his head and wags his tail a couple of times, enough to acknowledge his place in the exchange but not enough to appear actually excited.

Fraser has on jeans, with a bright splash of orange on one knee, and no shirt. His hair, usually a glinting gun-metal grey, is a riot of pale yellow, green, pink, and orange. Faded from the hard scrubbing he's administered but nonetheless—colorful.

Kowalski finishes his beer. "Maybe you should just shave it off and start over. Works for Vecchio." He comes around the counter and drops the empty bottle in the recycle bin, pausing to steal a kiss from Ray. 

"Mmm." Vecchio squeezes his arm. "I'm guessing the shirt was a loss?" he asks Fraser.

Fraser frowns. "I'm afraid it might be. I left it to soak in the tub."

"Great," Vecchio sighs under his breath. "By morning we'll have a carnival tent instead of a bathtub."

"Oh, no, Ray." Fraser turns off the kettle, which is starting to boil, and adds hot water to a cup with a tea bag he's just finished preparing. "I used my tub."

A vision of Fraser in the big metal tub, covered in soap, toes curled against the bottom and knees up practically around his ears, flashes behind Ray's eyes. "Well." He clears his throat. "Good. Hey, hey—" he grabs Fraser's elbow as he turns "—what about a hello?"

Fraser smiles. "Hello, Ray," he says, bending to kiss him. Ray takes advantage of the opportunity to run his hands over Fraser's bare chest, then dig his fingers into the flesh at Fraser's waist. There's a flush on Fraser's cheeks when they're done.

"Hello," Ray says softly.

Fraser bends to kiss him again, and then stiffens, and Ray feels another pair of hands, Kowalski's hands, slide around Fraser's back to cover his own, hold tight.

"Ray."

And there it is, that difference. You'd think "Ray" whispered, or moaned, or cried out in heat or eagerness, or just as the man is coming, would be too wrapped up in, well, _sex stuff_ , to allow accurate detection. But it doesn't.

"You getting our Mountie all wound up, Stanley?"

Ray hears the grin in Kowalski's voice. "I'd say, technically, I'm just following up on what you already started, Vecchio."

"I'm—I'm retired, Ray." Fraser protests. As if that was the most important thing about what's happening. He bites off what Ray is certain would have been a moan, if Fraser had let himself go. 

"Sorry, Frase," Kowalski whispers in a tone of voice that says he could give a fuck. And his hands are getting adventurous, sliding all the way around Fraser's waist and down, palming Fraser's dick. Vecchio braids his fingers with Kowalski's, and as they stroke he can feel Fraser get hard fast, thickening, lengthening.

"Ray." And that's for him, Fraser's half-hearted protest.

"How long till that Mexican lasagna's done?" Kowalski asks, and it's muffled, like Kowalski's got his mouth in the act now.

"Tamale pie, fucker." Ray bites Fraser's shoulder lightly.

"We got time to fuck our ex-Mountie?"

Vecchio peers over Fraser's shoulder at Kowalski, meets his eyes, shivers a little at the heat in them, 'cause a fair portion of that is for him, too.

"Always got time to fuck our ex-Mountie." Ray turns away and sets the temperature on the oven to low.

It still burns.


End file.
